Chapter 2. Trapped

Waking was a difficult thing, a desperate clawing not toward something but rather away from oppressive darkness. A difficult thing made worse by unnaturally heavy eyelids and limbs and silence. But, in the end, Harry still woke.

Awareness gifted him a wealth of information: the unfamiliar weight on his chest, the soft surface on which he lay, the dark green fabric that couldn't be the ceiling but rather—Oh. He was on a bed. A proper canopied bed.

Wait. Why was he on a bed?

Harry bolted upright. No. Oh Gods no. Panicked thoughts flitted through his mind like hummingbirds as he remembered. Remembered red eyes, a sharp, cruel smile, and hissed words.

"Instead, I think I'll keep you."

A strangled groan escaped his lips and he brought a hand up to muffle it, fear spiking. His eyes rapidly scanned the ornate room, and he found momentary relief in its immediately apparent emptiness. Mind somewhat calmed, he examined further, noting first the closed door and windows. Past the glass, he could see the tops of trees in the morning light; he must be on one of the tops floors of—another smothered, choked cry—Voldemort's manor.

Desperately shoving the thought away, his attention turned to the only other things in the room: the carved and polished wooden desk, the matching wardrobe, and the plush emerald rug. Like the rest of the room, they dripped wealth and confusion joined the fear swirling in his chest.

Why was he here? This room... The word that came to mind was luxurious. Even if Voldemort inexplicably did not desire his death, why wasn't he locked away to rot in some dungeon? After a moment, Harry sucked in a shaky breath. Inexplicable or not, this was good. He stood a far better chance of escaping this way.

Assuaged by his tame surroundings, Harry turned his attention to himself. He could feel no aches or pains, thank the Gods, but something—something was around his neck. He looked down slowly only to blink.

It was a locket. A rather large, golden locket with—he gingerly cupped it in his hand and lifted it to better see—an 'S' formed of emeralds.

How odd, he thought, letting the locket fall against his chest as he lifted his hands to the base of his neck, fingers searching for the clasp on the chain to no avail. The necklace did not appear to have a clasp. Frowning, he went to slip the chain over his head, but the locket only grew heavier and heavier the harder he tried, making the task quite impossible. Eventually, he gave up.

Incredibly unnerved, Harry inspected the rest of him. He was still wearing the clothes he'd worn to visit Tom.

Tom.

Suddenly, he was off the bed and at the door, furiously jiggling the locked doorknob. He needed to find Tom and they needed to leave. He just needed this stupid door to open!

Frustrated, Harry kicked it and began to pace in an attempt to calm himself down enough to access his magic. As he did so, he found himself glancing over at the windows several times, but a quick look out and down had him dismissing the possibility immediately. He had to be three or four floors up.

C'mon, Potter, he berated himself, Breathe! Breathe...

As he began to calm down, he finally felt the humming of his magic beneath his skin; he stopped before the door. Placing his hand on the doorknob, he tapped into the reserves of his magic and allowed it to reach out.

"Alohomora," he whispered.

Harry's lips twitched as he heard a faint click, but in the face of actually opening the door anxiety sparked in his stomach. Heart in his throat, he cautiously turned the doorknob, cracked the door open a hair, and peered out to find an empty hallway. Emboldened, he pushed it open enough to peek his head through and glance behind the door. Nothing but the end of the corridor. It was all the confirmation he needed to leave.

Harry scarcely dared to breathe as he crept past closed doors and dozing portraits on silent feet. As he snuck along, it became apparent that the rest of the house was as opulent as the room he'd been trapped in. Finally, though, he found what he was looking for: a winding staircase leading to the floor below.

Ears and eyes alert, he made his way down, meeting nothing on the way until at last, he was tiptoeing down the grand staircase before what had to be the magnificent front doors of the manor.

In a flash, he was there, pushing them open and slipping out into the sun.

Tom watched from afar as Harry's small figure slipped through the front doors of the manor. He had expected this, of course, but not nearly so quickly. As always, Harry Potter continued to impress.

As the boy—well, the man, now—began to run for it, Tom gauged his speed, did some mental calculations, and began to walk leisurely toward the spot where they would inevitably collide.

And collide they did. Looking over his shoulder, Harry failed to notice Tom and all but barrelled him over. To his private amusement, it was Harry who ended up sprawled on the grass. That being said, Tom still staggered back dramatically, swearing. He let shock twist his features as his eyes met Harry's.

"Harry?!" he blurted. "What on Earth are you doing here?"

"Oh thank Merlin!" Harry cried, and the pure, strong relief in his voice sounded sweet. "Tom! You're here!"

"I—Of course, Harry," Tom exclaimed, and he was sure he looked effectively flustered. "I'm supposed to be here. You, on the other hand, are very much not."

"I know," the young man cried, "I know! Voldemort caught me but I escaped. We need to go now."

"Voldemort caught you?!" Tom yelled, and Voldemort relished in it. "Tell me you're joking."

Harry scowled and pushed himself to his feet. "Does it look like I'm joking, Tom?"

Now that he was standing, Tom struggled to hide his admiration as he took in the alluring sight of his locket around that skinny little neck... What he would give to grab him by it... "What is that?" he breathed instead, his voice abruptly quiet and scared.

"Wha—?" Harry looked down at Slytherin's locket. "Oh, this," he said dismissively and Voldemort seethed. "I don't know. I can't take it off, though." As Tom carefully, purposefully brought a hand up to cover his mouth, fear began to flicker behind Harry's eyes. "What is it, Tom? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Harry..." he murmured. "That locket... I don't think you can leave."

"What?!" Harry balked. "What do you mean?"

"As long as you wear that necklace," Tom explained quietly, "I don't think you can leave the wards." Ever, his mind added gleefully.

"No," Harry shook his head rapidly, green eyes wet. "No, you must be wrong."

Tom let sympathy bleed into his expression, "I am not," he said simply.

Harry continued shaking his head. "No. No."

Though Tom was expecting it, he let a little noise of feigned surprise escape when Harry bolted past him. "Harry!" He called after him, "Harry, there's no point!" The young man was sprinting faster than he'd ever seen him and Voldemort wanted to chase and hunt and tear. Tom took after him at a light jog. "Harry stop! He'll know you tried to escape! He'll hurt you!"

His warnings fell on deaf ears and Harry continued, almost at the tree line.

"Harry!"

The man plunged into the trees and Tom slowed to a walk. As he walked, Tom enjoyed the light breeze and the carefully planted flora of his garden. After a moment, Tom too entered the trees. As he approached Harry's body lying in the leaves, admiring the blood pouring from his nose, he said to no one, "I did warn him."

Rather than wake him, Tom brought Harry back to his room.

In glaring contrast to earlier, Harry woke suddenly; asleep one breath, awake the next. As his eyes opened, he saw that instead of yellow morning light, the room was swathed in cool, blue moonlight. His face also ached, his nostrils, lips, and chin covered in sticky, flaky blood.

The worst difference, though, loomed above him.

Lord Voldemort.

The man—the monster—stared, his red gaze unending. Harry felt trapped in it, paralyzed. The only thing he could do was stare back, eyes wide. He was reminded vividly of a hippogriff; if he blinked, something terrible would surely happen. So he stared.

The longer they stay locked in this terrible stare, the more Harry was able to notice. Like how those red eyes did not have normal round pupils but sharp, ovular, vertical pupils instead. Like how Voldemort's skin wasn't just pale, it was white and covered with scales. Like how instead of a nose, Voldemort had slits like a snake. And, oh how snake-like he was. The mouth that smiled down at him was lipless, displaying sharp teeth that would undoubtedly be best described as fangs, and the tongue that flicked out to wet his nonexistent lips was not forked but abnormally long. He was, in short, terrifying.

Before long, Harry's eyes began to burn and his breathing began to quicken. He couldn't blink, he couldn't. His vision began to blur as tears welled and then—suddenly—the red gaze moved away from him.

Harry's eyes squeezed shut and wetness tracked down his cheeks.

"Harry Potter..." Voldemort hissed.

He didn't dare open his sore eyes.

"I have but three rules for your stay. Firssst, and most importantly, you cannot leave."

His natural inclination for impertinence reared its ugly head and Harry opened his eyes. "I thought that obvious, my lord, what with this necklace and all."

To his incredible shock, Voldemort just laughed—a terrible, hissed thing—and continued. "Sssecond, you will treat myself and my groundskeeper with ressspect or ssssuffer the consequences."

Harry kept his mouth shut this time; the threat of violence was strong in Voldemort's eyes.

"And finally," the monster continued, "Consider the east wing of the manor out of bounds to you, Harry Potter... Unless that is, you wish to die a very painful death." There was a crazed glaze to Voldemort's eyes that suggested he wouldn't mind if he did at all. "Underssstood?"

Harry's hands curled, white-knuckling the sheets below him as he stared up at the beast above him. "Why am I here?"

Voldemort's face twitched. "Agree to the terms."

"Why am I here?!"

Yesterday, before Harry had even seen his face up close, he'd thought of Voldemort's body as serpentine. It was an apt descriptor. There was a fluidity to the monster's movements reminiscent of a serpent, even as he lunged with impossible speed.

Before Harry could so much as blink, Voldemort had him pinned beneath him, his legs straddling Harry's own, his long, spidery fingers wrapped crushingly around his neck. Terror set his heart pounding as Voldemort's breath whispered across his face. "Agree. To. The terms."

Harry could only choke. His hands came up to claw at Voldemort's and the monster's head cocked to the side as he watched him struggle. At this angle, his face became bathed in moonlight; his red eyes looked almost purple in the blue light.

"Oh dear," he breathed, and Harry could feel his eyes rolling back as his lungs screamed for air. "I suppose you need to breathe to answer."

Sweet, sweet air. The monster's grip loosened—loosened only—and Harry gasped for breath. Coughing horribly, he almost missed it when Voldemort hissed in his ear. "Agree to the terms, Harry Potter."

"I—agh! I agree," he choked out.

Triumph danced in his eyes and Voldemort smiled a terrible, sharp smile. "Lovely," he purred, and oh, Gods, was he leaning closer? He was. Voldemort was leaning closer, smile growing, fangs showing, and—"Urgh!"

Something soft and wet licked at Harry's lips. No. At the blood on Harry's lips. Frozen in horrified shock, his eyes squeezed shut and his heart stuttered in his chest as Voldemort's tongue lapped at him until—

"Oh, how sssweet you taste, Harry..."

Harry did not open his eyes, suddenly and excruciatingly aware of the heavy weight of Voldemort trapping his legs, and, more awfully, the new hardness of what had to be the monster's cock.

As soon as he felt it though, it was gone and Harry was left shuddering with terror and the abrupt cold that was the loss of Voldemort's body heat.

"Look at me."

Harry's eyes opened. Voldemort was once again looming above him, not touching.

"Until we meet again."

A/N: Why no talk of wands you ask? In my mind, this occurred way, way before canon, back when very few wizards, only the richest, had access to a wand. But what about Voldy, why doesn't he have a wand? Even though Voldy is rich, the people who trapped him would never allow him access to a wand.